


grin and bear

by idaate



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, No Spoilers, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10036652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idaate/pseuds/idaate
Summary: It should be easy for Ouma to break into his own kitchen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt

It’s a simple fact of the matter. Ouma’s had many fantasies about being a phantom thief ( _appropriate_ fantasies, thank you very much), fingers deftly opening a safe hundreds have claimed are unlockable, stealing treasures guarded by thousands who claim they’re unstealable. And then, without anyone even realizing what had happened, he would wink and disappear into the night.

So breaking into his own kitchen shouldn’t prove to be very difficult.

His fingers shake slightly, ever so slightly as they push the key into the lock, the paper in his fists not making the process any easier. To his utter horror, it takes several tries before it finally slides in, turning with a dull _click_ before the door swings open ever so slightly. Ouma catches it, but not before it lets out an excruciatingly loud squeak that cuts through the silence like a knife through butter. At this, he holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable reaction from inside the house.

Nothing.

Singing a triumphant jingle inside his head, Ouma pushes the door open further, stepping inside. It’s basically pitch black, and he’s almost worried about tripping over the kitchen counter but reasons that his eyes should adjust to the darkness. Sighing, he closes the door behind him, and it closes even quieter than it had been opened.

Someone flicks on a light switch, and suddenly there’s light spilling out onto the kitchen tile and a very disappointed and very, very tired Saihara standing in front of him.

Shit.

“Where have you been?” Saihara frowns, and Ouma shrugs helplessly, a tiny grin already fitting itself onto a picture perfect face. His fist tighten around the paper in his left hand, desperate to hide it from the other boy.

“Nishishi, out and about. Decided I wanted to go on a little evening walk.”

“ _Evening_ walk?” The boy sputters. “Ouma-kun, do you have _any_ idea how late it is?”

“...kinda late?”

“Kind of?!” Saihara’s doing that thing, the thing where he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, folding his arms and tapping his elbow. The _thing_ that he does when he’s anxious, when he’s trying to calm himself down. It’s a little funny how easy he is to read, once you figure out all his little ticks. “It is _three in the morning_ , Ouma-kun. Sure, I understand you’ve come home at midnight so if you came home around then I would have been a bit more reasonably but you’ve never. _Never_. Come home this late.”

Saihara breathes in shakily, and Ouma lets his grin rest painstakingly on his face.

“You better have a good reason for this.” He finishes after a couple moments of silence. “You have no idea how worried Akamatsu-san was.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to say…” Ouma hums, “I really don’t have a good reason! I walked around and ended up falling asleep on a park bench. My deepest apologies, and all that!”

Saihara sighs. “Just...if you’re going to pull something like this, give us a call, alright?” He runs his hands through his hair. “Let us know where you are. I know you might not care about what we do, but Akamatsu-san and I are _worried_ about you. Really.”

“I’m touched,” Ouma drawls, “ _really_.”

There’s a frustrated curl of Saihara’s lips that Ouma definitely doesn’t miss, but the taller boy simply cracks his knuckles in frustration and lets his gaze dance over Ouma’s figure. “Fine, be that way.”

Ouma’s stock photo grin only widens and he begins to make his way out of the kitchen, but Saihara grabs his arm. The sudden warmth around his cold and bony elbow brings a slight shock, and he glances at Saihara in mild alarm.

“What’s that paper?” He motions at the crumpled up scrap clenched deeply in Ouma’s fist, and the boy winces. “Did you get arrested, or something?”

“O-oh, this?” Ouma tries pulling away, but Saihara’s grip is strong. “It’s nothing. Just something I picked up on the way here. A piece of trash.”

Saihara sticks his hand out expectantly. “Hand it over. I’ll throw it out.”

“Nah~!”

Frowning, Saihara jabs Ouma’s side, causing the smaller boy to gasp in shock at how much it _hurts_ (it hasn’t hurt this much before is saihara getting stronger) and loosen his grip on the paper. In an instant, Saihara rips the paper from his fingers, tearing it slightly in the process but still leaving it readable.

Ouma’s already making his way down the hall, pace quickening and heart racing because he’ll deal with this later he can stall it for now he could stall it for forever if he wanted to, this wasn’t a problem he should care about but Saihara grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around, face red.

He shoves the paper back in Ouma’s face, the tiny, neat hospital print screaming foreign words that had too many letters and syllables. Ouma’s seen this before, seen it as a doctor hands the paper into his shaking hands and explaining to him as eyes grow wide that he has too few months left to live, but all he can do is smile and smile and smile.

“Ouma--”

“Woah, you actually fell for that!” He says it in a voice that’s too loud for three in the morning. “Saihara-chan, you’re so _dumb_! I would’ve thought that you might be at least a little skeptical when you saw it, but you believed it right away!” The laugh that comes from his mouth is forced and brittle. “Dumb, dumb, _dummy_! You’re not gonna get very far in life if you’re _that_ gullible--”

Saihara shoves Ouma against the wall, the smaller boy letting out a startled ‘nyoh’ as Saihara forces his face mere inches away from Ouma’s. There are tears in the corners of Saihara’s eyes, his face hot and heavy as he tries to collect himself.

“How long?” He demands.

“Pardon?”

“How _long_ were you planning on keeping this from us?” Saihara practically wails. “O-Ouma-kun, how could you _lie_ about this!”

Ouma tries to grab Saihara’s wrists, as if to push him away, but his own grip feels too weak to do anything other than stay there and feel the other boy’s steady pulse. He knows it’s all in his head, he knows that it’s not possible to suddenly grow ten times as sickly just cause he got _diagnosed_ , but the boniness that both of them can see in his joints are unnerving nonetheless.

Saihara’s growing blurry in his vision, and for a moment Ouma thinks that he has to take back that thought about illnesses not getting worse when they’re diagnosed but then he realizes to his utter horror that he’s crying. He wants to wipe the tears away, wants them to be gone gone gone but if he did that, then he would be acknowledging that they existed in the first place and that was _unacceptable_.

Ouma was scared of dying, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave Saihara and Kaede and everyone behind but the way things were now, the paper dictated everything.

He inhales shakily, finally letting himself give up and fall into a hug in Saihara’s arms. The taller boy is shaking, too, arms enveloping Ouma’s own trembling form as he tries to convince himself that he’s too strong to die, too important to die because he’s Kokichi Ouma and no sickness could change that.

They stay like that, huddled and in each other’s arms till morning brings with it the first rays of the sun’s light.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the birthday wishes yesterday! 
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoyed!


End file.
